


The Kingsman Family (And Where They Go From Here)

by TheAlphaFox



Series: Kingsmen AU- The Lovelorn Misadventures Of Guinevere (OC) and Galahad [6]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: And Some Good Ones, Because Harry Is Arthur Now, British Comedy, British English, Eggsy as Galahad, Eggsy is a Little Shit, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship, Gen, Gentleman Harry Hart, Kingsman Family, Long-Term Relationship(s), Love, Married Couple, Merlin is a Little Shit, Missions, Missions Gone Wrong, Poor Life Choices, Protective Eggsy, Ridiculous, Roxy Is a Good Bro, Sassy, Spies & Secret Agents, The Joke's Always On Chloe For Some Reason, They have each other's backs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-05-18 22:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5945272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAlphaFox/pseuds/TheAlphaFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guinevere and Galahad are finally married. Galahad has taken on the mantle of Arthur and his previous title has been passed down to Eggsy. Merlin and Roxy are together. They're all muddling along together, in their own inimitable how-do-these-things-always- seem-to-happen-to-us kind of way.</p><p>And between them, they're rebuilding the establishment, day by day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Questionable Use Of The Kingsman Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AugustusFeuer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustusFeuer/gifts), [Mystra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystra/gifts), [Tolee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tolee/gifts).



> Dedicated to the above, and also Bern Torrente, who was apparently a guest and doesn't have an account for me to gift this properly to. Thank you all so much for your support- without your comments and kind words on What Happens When Kingsmen Fall In Love, this series wouldn't exist. Love you all xxx 
> 
> I think it's time for me to tie up this story, and give Chloe and Harry their happy ever after. A few more oneshots about how they adjust to their new lives, and I think the curtain will fall on our newlyweds.
> 
> For now, at least xxx

"Personally," Harry says, looking down the menu with a concentrated half-smile tugging at his lips, "I'm rather tempted by the lobster."  
"I've never tried lobster." I muse, tilting my head to one side. Harry's smile grows as he considers me. I feel my cheeks flush a little and decide to study the beautiful tailoring of his pale grey suit against his neck. My husband... if I could ever get used to saying that, I suppose.

That's one of the things I love about Harry. Aside from the gorgeous colour of his eyes, his kind nature, the sharp wit, the wardrobe, and a million other things- my life with him has not been boring yet. Not for a single second.

Even tonight, in our favourite restaurant, with the whole evening to ourselves, dinner is an event. Perhaps because I get to spend it with him. Or maybe because we've in essence skipped half a day of work for no good reason at all.

"Chloe?" he prompts gently. I snap out of my daydream and force myself to become interested in the ceiling. "I'm sorry, I was just remembering."  
"What were you remembering?" he inquires lazily, head tilted to one side.  
"You. Us."  
"All good things, I hope?"  
"Well. Mainly." I chuckle. "There was that time that we locked Merlin in his lab accidentally, and then he sent me to Australia for a fortnight on that wild goose chase. I mean, really, how was I to know that the door lock was defective? I only asked you to- ahem, liberate- the doorstop for a moment. It wasn't like I didn't try and put it back." Harry smirks at the memory. "Ah. The house was quiet without you. And Bear spent the nights howling and scratching at the rug." 

My dog is a source of debate in our house- I love him to bits, even if his little corgi body is carrying a few extra pounds these days, although Harry maintains he's ridiculous and irritating. Something about midnight barking and laziness and chewing expensive slippers. I don't think he realises I've walked in on him giving Bear a handful of treats and scratching his ears on about a million occasions; it's no wonder the vet keeps saying he's overweight! For all his talk, Harry is a complete soft touch. There's no way on earth he'd get rid of my dog.

"He probably missed some sanity."  
"How could he? I was right there."

We both laugh at that. I look at Harry with a random rush of concern. "Merlin is going to kill us, isn't he? I mean, he only gave me the evening off because I said I'd be writing my reports from the Bedford meeting all night- and even if he has no authority over you as Arthur, you know full well he'll guilt trip you into accepting extra work or something, for taking an unscheduled evening off. I do quite like seeing you outside of Kingsman, you know."  
Harry smirks. Some of us are lucky enough to be relatively untouchable. "Perhaps, but isn't this worth it?"  
"Yes, of course." I say, my cheeks flushing in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol. "As I said, I love spending time with you."

The conversation lulls for a moment as Harry sips his whisky and I nurse my glass of red wine, cupping it in my hands to warm it up. "How is it?" he asks, nodding at my wine. I smile. "Honestly, it's sheer vinegar. But never mind. How's the whisky?"  
"Dire." Harry chuckles. "Luckily, I'm not here for just that."  
"Then why are you here?" I tease. It's a standing joke between us that the food here is superb but the drinks are awful- and it's always the same. "Why am I here? For you." he says simply. "Oh, and to avoid Merlin.

"Charming!" I say, "But all the same, I dread to think what he'd say if he knew we were here. Especially since we basically exploited Kingsman to get in." Harry laughs eventually, leaning back on his chair slightly. "Can you imagine where he'd send us?" he asks me, brows raised. I shake my head ominously. "I'd like to say I wouldn't care, as long as we were together... But I'll be damned if I go to bloody Siberia one more time, honestly. I've only just got the feeling back in my hands."

Harry nods his agreement and we look back at our menus. "Anyway, I think I've made up my mind." I say, flicking my fringe back from my face. My perfectly tailored suit jacket makes a soft swishing noise as my hair falls against it.

"I bet I can guess what you want to order." Harry says playfully, his shoe nudging my shin under the table. I pretend to be scandalised. "Mr Hart, really!"  
"Is there a problem, Mrs Hart?" He raises an eyebrow in interest and my heart just melts. "I'm still not used to that." I say with a warm smile.  
"What can I do to help you grow accustomed to being my wife?" he asks, a hint of cheeky sparkle flaming in his eyes. I smirk. "Yes, well, there is THAT. And... keep calling me that. Your wife, I mean. That's all I want to be."  
"Oh, hello," Harry says cheerfully, as if to an imaginary guest. "This is my wife, Chloe." His tone becomes normal again. "How was that?"

I roll my eyes at him, trying to hide my blush. "Thank you. Anyway. The floor is yours, Mr Hart. What am I ordering?"  
"Spinach ravioli." he says in an instant, oh, so confidently, and then frowns slightly. His eye focus on the lens of his glasses rather than my face. "What?" I ask, instantly alert. He shrugs imperceptibly. "Nothing important enough to disrupt our evening." I watch as he subtly declines a call on the right arm of the spectacles with a long perfected tucking-hair-behind-the-ear routine. 

Oh, crap. 

So Merlin will be having a rage at both of us tomorrow, then. That'll be amusing to say the least. Regardless, I allow my own Oxfords to trail up his leg, hoping that the heavy silk tablecloth is disguising the majority of our immature antics. This is a highly respectable establishment, and if we used our employer to get in without a reservation, so what? 

It could be worse, I decide, as I imagine telling Merlin we blagged our way into a four star restaurant using Harry's Kingsman credentials, we could be using the company credit card. At least, that'll be my excuse. I mean, really. If Merlin is going to murder me for ditching, the rest is all Harry's. Good luck to him!

Harry is still looking smug for predicting my order. "Am I so boring, if you can second-guess me that easily?" I ask.  
"Not at all. My dear, you've ordered the same thing the last three times we've been here." I try to think of a suitable protest and then realise he's actually right. "Hmm. Touché."

I glance over Harry's shoulder at the doorway absently, and my mouth goes bone dry in a way that has nothing to do with the terrible wine. Oh, dear.

"Actually, Harry," I say carefully, "I think I've changed my mind."  
He looks intrigued. "Oh? Has the lobster tempted you after all?"  
"Not exactly... I rather fancy a McDonalds." 

Harry stares at me, completely bemused, as I watch Merlin lead Roxy through the front door. He glances over his shoulder to see what I'm starting at. "Shit." he says eloquently. "You know, since you mention it, I do seem to want a burger all of a sudden."  
"Does Antarctica have a Kingsman station?"  
"If it doesn't now, I think it will soon."

"Joy. But we can't leave the front way." I point out. Harry frowns. "Right." I continue, thinking fast, "If I manage to get us out of this, you're buying dinner."  
"Deal!" he agrees instantly, staring straight at me as if hoping Merlin won't notice us. That in itself seems unlikely.

Our favourite tech wizard is wearing a sleek black suit, Roxy clad in a smooth, blue silk dress that shows off her creamy skin. They're a very attractive couple, and part of me wants to go and say hello to our friends, but Harry and I have been caught red handed. I love Merlin to bits and I think Roxy would find it funny, but I do NOT love Merlin's temper. Or his work ethic. All work and no play makes a Kingsman agent into a tech wizard. Speaking of tech wizards, I guarantee the moment those two have eaten, Merlin will be straight back into his lab to work on something or another. With each day that passes, he becomes more like the machines he works with. To be perfectly honest, I'd face one of Merlin's custom built weapons any day of the week rather than walk past their table now like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar. I'm in the wrong, admittedly- we shouldn't have used the Kingsman name to get a table and I should have done my report before I left- but I'll be damned if I'm going to let him lecture me about it in the middle of the restaurant! 

I catch hold of a passing waiter. "Excuse me," I begin politely, "But is there a back door or trade entrance that I could utilise?"  
"Er..." The waiter looks a bit bewildered. I don't suppose it's a request he often gets. "I'm not sure the manager would like it, Madam."  
"Ah. Well. You see that fellow over there, with the young lady?"  
"The balding gentleman?" the waiter clarifies. Harry snorts with laughter and quickly turns it into a cough.  
"Yes. Well, that's my husband."  
"Then who's this, if you don't mind me asking?" The waiter glances at Harry in utter confusion, nose twitching as if to scent out a scandal. Harry catches on to what I'm trying to do, and masterfully plays along. 

"I'm her lover." he says, as bluntly as anything. I smirk at how easily that came to his mind. What else was he thinking about, I wonder? 

"Then who's the woman with your husband, if you don't mind me asking?" the poor waiter asks fearfully. "That's HIS lover." I reply cheerfully. "So, you see, I'd like to beat a hasty retreat or the ambiance in here is likely to be a little... disrupted." 

The waiter goes exceptionally pale at the thought of an angry couple airing their dirty laundry in the middle of an acclaimed restaurant. "I see. In that case, right this way. Madam, Sir, the kitchen door is at your command."

Harry and I stand up slowly and walk to the kitchen door, slipping through as nondescriptly as possible. I glance back just as I am disappearing into the steamy metal efficiency of the kitchen.

Merlin suddenly looks straight up from his menu and meets my gaze. 

FUCK.

His face goes from shock to rage to understanding, and then- after a heart stopping moment of terror- he rolls eyes behind his glasses. I dare to breathe. "...Sorry." I murmur sheepishly over my glasses. His lips move to form a reply and there is a brief delay before I hear it. "Humph. I think you pair deserve a night off. But if those reports aren't on my desk by 9am tomorrow, there's a scope mission in Kazakhstan with your name on it, and a conference in Iceland that I think Harry might enjoy. Is that clear?"  
"Yes. Fair enough." I say, thinking only 'at least it's not Siberia'. 

I slip into the kitchen and follow Harry, weaving between the stations. At the back door, I slip the waiter an eye-wateringly massive tip and then we escape as quickly as humanly possible. Every single chef in the damn place eyes us curiously, as we retreat to a taxi and go to find the nearest McDonalds. 

I decide against telling my husband that we're in a dire situation, as I lean into his embrace in the back of the taxi. He kisses my hairline gently as I allocate an hour of the morning in my mental diary to write up the reports, and a further hour to do extra work to appease Merlin. 

I do so love the grumpy git, he's definitely a kindred spirit in the world of sarcasm and coffee, but he takes his job far too seriously. I make another mental note to take him out one evening with Eggsy and Roxy, and get him absolutely pissed. That'll be fun, at the very least, and maybe he could even be persuaded to skip a day of work the next morning!

I do understand why Merlin is so on edge. After Ches-the previous Arthur, we're all working our arses off to make Kingsman strong again, to rebuild the trust and camaraderie between our agents, make it a family again. I just worry sometimes that Merlin blames himself too much, he's so reluctant to leave the own, always pushing for a deadline or report that really could wait another hour. I'll have to keep an eye on my favourite tech wizard, I think. 

Anyway, it's too close to dinner for deep thoughts like that, and burgers are on Harry. Even if I'm predictable, his Big Mac order is more reliable than the speaking clock. As we're laughing about the madness of our evening and enjoying our (slightly less extravagant than planned) meal, I can't help feeling like the joke is once again on me. 

Oh, well.


	2. My Dog Is Not Ridiculous (But Yours Is Stuffed, Anyway)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry likes to complain, and so Chloe's beloved hound becomes a point of... Er, mutual discussion. 
> 
> Plus, Harry is addicted to slippers.

I sit at the kitchen island and sip my coffee demurely. It's half past ten, I'm on my third cup of espresso and I've just finished a slice of toast, so I suppose I could now be considered human. Harry is still asleep, bless his fluffy bed hair, all tired out from the last three weeks of Red Alert. Merlin insisted we should up the Alert after one of Valentine's old contacts resurfaced, but unfortunately once we hit Red from Amber, as head of the Kingsmen Harry is expected to be on call and ready to issue orders at a moments notice. Sleep- pure, undiluted sleep- has been somewhat lacking. 

I put down my coffee with a clink against the saucer, and settle into my stool to watch the sunlight dapple the kitchen units, streaming through the considerably wide windows to dance with the dust motes above the floorboards. It's pretty, I muse, uncrossing and recrossing my bare legs underneath one of Harry's old shirts. If it's a cliché that I sleep in my husband's shirts, so what? And if it's a sign of privilege that they're all hand-tailored and probably cost more than some people make in a month, again, so what? They're comfy, and as long as Eggsy never finds out, it won't hurt. 

The house is so peaceful at this time of day, especially on a Saturday. Sunday mornings mean getting up at 5 for an hour-long run and then going into the office until lunchtime. The only time off we ever truly get is our Saturdays, and even then sometimes it's conference calls and filing. I have to smile at that thought. The makers of James Bond really fucked up when it came to depicting the paperwork.

My gaze is drawn suddenly to the dog bed in the corner of the room. It's empty, which is strange. The regular occupant is as lazy as they come, and will usually move a shorter distance in an average day than Stonehenge could. 

My dog was a source of great strife when Harry and I first moved in together, and our marriage has done little to smooth the issue. As with every other Kingsman, I received a puppy during initiation. It's testament to my corgi that he's still relatively mobile now, almost 8 years later. Bear is my darling, a truly spoilt little ball of pudding on legs, who always manages to cheer me up when I'm stressed. So, naturally, when Harry and I chose our new joint safe house, my dog came too.

Harry still maintains that Bear is "ridiculous". Although his dog is currently stuffed, so he isn't really allowed to comment. Poor old Mr Pickles. 

Apparently Bear's tail looks like macaroni, he achieves nothing with his days- that's not true, he sleeps- and if we were to be burgled, Harry reckons he'd actually help carry the valuables out in exchange for biscuits. I resent this attack on my poor hound- he's nothing if not loyal.

Anyway, he's not in the room now, and that's a little strange. Normally he'd be begging for whatever was on my plate!

I stand up, stretching to relieve the stiffness in my joints, and pad out into the hallway. I poke my head into the living room- is he on the sofa, naughty thing? Even I don't allow him that luxury.

No, he isn't on those black leather cushions...

I walk along to the downstairs toilet. Is he curled up against the old radiator, did he somehow slip into that tiny room when I wasn't looking? 

Negative. No dog chewing up the linoleum or snoozing in the heat.

So has he ventured into the back garden and actually done some exercise on this unseasonably warm October day?

Ha! Nope.

So where is he?

I'm still puzzling over it when I hear stirring from upstairs, a loud thud, and then rapid footsteps. "Bear!" Harry says disbelievingly, his voice carrying down the stairs to make me wince. What has that dog done now, I wonder?

Harry comes down the stairs slowly, pausing halfway down when he sees me in the hallway. He's a vision in a silky burgundy dressing gown and a set of white and burgundy striped pyjamas. The expression on his face, though, does not bode well for my survival. Oh, crap, I think, what's going on now?

"Er. Good morning?" I try weakly. "Good morning. Come and see what your bloody dog has done." he replies ominously, turning on his heel and stalking off upstairs. There's nothing funnier than Harry in a strop, but right now I sense laughing may not be the best idea.

I follow in silence, dutifully humouring my husband, and he holds our bedroom door open for me like the put-upon gentleman that he is. Suddenly, I see it.

There's what can only be described as a Bear-sized nest of slippers, just visible under our bed. All but one of the pairs are Harry's (why he needs so many slippers, I will never understand). I don't know for certain, but I would estimate that the pile of chewed rubber and slobbery tailoring probably has a value of above £1000. My soft grey pair are- were- very cheap, and I never wore them anyway. It's Harry's purchases I'm more concerned about.

"Um. Where's Bear?" I say helplessly, torn between giggling and begging for forgiveness on the corgi's behalf. Harry glowers moodily at me. "No idea. If he has any sense he won't be showing his muzzle for a while."

I reach out for him and slip my arms round his neck, pulling him in close for a hug. He huffs in temper, the warm air tickling my neck. "There, now." I soothe gently, hoping to appease him. "I've just made coffee, if you fancy some."  
"Thank you, my dear." At last, Harry seems a little mellowed. "Are you coming too?"  
"I'll be there in a moment." I say, gesturing towards the ruined slippers. Harry nods once, detaches himself, and I hear his footsteps trailing off down the stairs. 

I close the bedroom door behind me and pad over to the bed. "You're an idiot." I murmur, pulling back the unmade quilt to reveal my corgi, all curled up and looking very guilty. I'd love to tell him off but for some reason I just can't do it. "I'm impressed you got all the way up onto the bed on your own though, fellow, you're going strong today." I say, sitting down beside him and ruffling his stomach. He shuffle-staggers over to me and lolls into my lap, searching for more fuss, and the epiphany is instant.

"Oh my god, you didn't get up here alone, did you? There's no way you could. It was Harry! Harry brought you into our bed after I went downstairs!" I laugh, and run my hand down Bear's back, feeling the soft fur give beneath my fingers. He gives an approving little rumble and looks at me adoringly. "Come on, then, you. Remember I taught you how to beg?"  
He looks encouragingly at me. "Yeah, well, it's going to come in handy now. Just count yourself lucky that I married a man who's a sucker for puppy dog eyes, alright?"

Bear makes an odd wheezing sound, halfway between a purr and a laugh. I lift him down from the bed, watching his funny wonky scrabble across the hall and down the stairs, and then grab my phone from the bedside table. I may yet be able to salvage this.

To: Roxy  
From: Chloe  
Hey, do you want to go shopping later? I have a sudden and desperate need to spend at least £1000 on luxury men's slippers. For the sake of my sanity, please just agree, and don't ask xxx :)

 

To: Chloe  
From: Roxy  
I'd love to, I've got the morning off so I may as well make the most of it! Honestly, nothing surprises me with you anymore ;) You can explain over coffee, my treat. Let me know when you're ready and I'll come round xxx


	3. Standing In The Hall Of Fame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every Kingsman earns their place in history. 
> 
> The only question is- once you have that place, is it right to take it away again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, cubs! I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated, I'm currently revising for twenty-four exams across ten subjects, so I'm exhausted :) 
> 
> However, I wanted to bring you this. Inspired by the song "Hall of Fame" by the Script ft. will.i.am xxx
> 
> Enjoy!

"Do you think we should take it down?" Merlin asks quietly from behind me, his Scottish brogue melancholy and hushed. I sigh, and lean back on my heels a little, looking at the portrait on the wall as if it could answer for me. It's a question we have been debating together for weeks now, and I still can't make up my mind.

We are standing in a corridor that only initiated Kingsmen are entitled to visit, a long and beautifully decorated place with rich red carpets and cream wallpaper. Every few feet is an oil portrait in an ornately carved frame, a family crest and the Kingsman logo incorporated into the pattern. A silver frame for the currently serving, a black frame for the dead. 

This is the Kingsmen Hall of Fame. 

Every agent eventually gets a portrait here. It is a post-two year gift, as a reward for services to the country, and hangs here as a permanent reminder of those who stand in their suits as modern knights. Some receive theirs earlier, for acts of heroism. Some a little later, having yet to prove themselves. Mine was up on the wall within eight weeks of my initiation, but that's another story entirely.

Merlin's hand is on my shoulder now, but I think it is more for his stability than mine. The portrait we are staring at is displayed in the atypical black frame of a deceased agent, the King family crest entwined with the Kingsman 'K'. The display plaque on the wall underneath it simply reads "Arthur. 1951-2015". 

I can scarcely breathe now- his name is carved into an oval of wood, and every other plaque here is pure gold. This is the only lasting reproach in this hallway for the atrocities committed by our former Arthur.

"Chloe?" Merlin prompts hesitantly, his voice grave and still hushed. It is an unspoken rule in this corridor that nobody speaks above a whisper. I turn to look into his eyes, see his fear of Chester's memory eroding our carefully rebuilt Kingsman agency, and swallow hard. "It's your decision." Merlin insists. "I'd say that you are the one who has suffered the most because of him. Do you think we should take it down?"

My mind begins to wander, and I recall the smell of old books and childhood visits from my father's best friend, riding out beside him on my tiny fat pony, my mother banning him from our house after my parents divorced, the way that he recommended me to Merlin when the previous Guinevere was blown away in Kazakhstan. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. 

"I... No." I judge quietly, my tone surprisingly unwavering. "No, we shouldn't take it down."  
"No?" Merlin looks surprised. I shake my head, the collar of my shirt suddenly feeling too tight. I reach up and slip the top button open. "Merlin, I want it made into part of initiation."  
"What?" he asks, completely bemused now. I smile softly. 

"I want you to bring every new recruit here, walk them down this hallway. Tell them our stories, the legends and the laughter, give them everything that this corridor can hold. And when you get to this portrait, don't walk past it. Stop, and tell them his story. Tell them that he had the world at his feet but he stood for the wrong things. Inspire them. You're so good at sparking things like that in people, Merlin. Please, give them the choice. As a Kingsman, either get the gold plaque or the wooden one."

Merlin looks up at the white haired gentleman, standing there with his suit firmly pressed and his weak chin slightly lifted, and nods to himself. "The most important lesson?" he clarifies, his lips quirking into a hesitant imitation of a smile. I smile too. There's no point dwelling on what has happened, but we can learn from it.

"Yes." I agree. "Yes, it is." 

I slip my hand into the firm grasp of my favourite tech wizard and allow him to lead me out of this hallway and away from Chester. It won't be easy, having him there between the previous Percival and the current Gwaine, but some part of me can acknowledge that he deserves to be there. A bastard, yes, but he did serve his country for years before he turned. That's what matters now. 

As we reach the end of the corridor and Merlin opens the door for me, I can't resist glancing back one last time. Two portraits in particular catch my attention- both with the silver frames of current agents. I look at the first, a seemingly excitable woman with long brown ringlets and sparkling blue eyes. The second is a distinguished looking gentleman with melted chocolate eyes and soft, brown, curling hair.

The two gold plaques beneath them make sure that I am truly smiling as I follow Merlin out of the door. 

"Guinevere. 1990-"  
"Galahad. 1963-"

Both frames are created with an interlocking 'K' and the crest of Hart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked that!
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you thought, and I'll update as soon as I possibly can! Have a good day <3


	4. The Kingsman Mainframe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Merlin and Guinevere attempt to have a conversation over the new watch messaging system?
> 
> Exactly what you'd expect, to be perfectly honest.

Initiated by: Merlin (name withheld)  
Clearance Level #1  
Senior Management  
\---  
Joined: Guinevere (Hart, Chloe Hannah)   
Clearance Level #1  
Field Agent  
\---  
Guinevere: Merlin, I'm currently being shot at, can we please make this quick?

Merlin: Apologies. How are you finding messaging over your watch? Is it working alright?

Guinevere: Perfectly. You're a genius. Insert inane flattery here. Now what is it?

Merlin: Thank you, I was aware. And I can't find them.

Guinevere: Arse. Also, I am many things, but psychic is not one of them. Find what???

Merlin: The reports. On the Sydney crisis. Guinevere, where are they? I asked for them yesterday.

Guinevere: I left them on your desk!

Merlin: You did?

Guinevere: Yes. It's not my fault your lab is such a mess!

Merlin: Have you ever tried to find the time to tidy a room this big, whilst simultaneously running the technological side of the England branch of a massive international intelligence agency?

Guinevere: Sadly not.

Merlin: Hmm.

Guinevere: Mainly because some arsehole keeps posting me to godforsaken corners of the globe for no good reason. Take this, for example. I am running around an old warehouse, trying not to get shot by about 30 armed men who've just appeared from nowhere. They keep shouting at each other, but my Vietnamese is a little rusty, so I'm basically winging it. Why couldn't you have sent Percival on this one?

Merlin: Ah, come on, you enjoy all of this. Shall I tell you why I do it, to pass the time?

Guinevere: Sorry, what part of I AM BEING SHOT AT did you not get? I'm passing the time by trying not to become a human colander! 

Merlin: Oh, go on, indulge me. I've had a shit day.

Guinevere: Ugggggggh. Why? What's happened now?

Merlin: My new software update failed, and crashed so spectacularly I'm having to fix half the database from scratch. Harry is in a bad mood because "the bloody dog" kept him up half the night howling. And I've just run out of coffee, to add insult to injury.

Guinevere: Poor Bear, I hope Harry remembers to walk him. 

Merlin: He loves that corgi secretly, I swear he does. Although I should probably tell him that luxury dog food purchases are not claimable as company expenses, even if we did give you the dog in the first place.

Guinevere: Sweetheart, isn't he?

Merlin: I wouldn't know. Ah, I almost wish I had a dog now, it's too quiet in here. 

Guinevere: Oh, damn everything. Fine. Will having a heart to heart brighten your day, you poor magician?

Merlin: Immeasurably. And that joke wasn't funny the first 50 times.

Guinevere: Whatever floats your boat. Go on, then. I need to find some cover.

Merlin: Originally, it was to break up the bloody tension between you and Galahad. 

Guinevere: I married him, that is no longer an excuse!!

Merlin: True. Duck.

Guinevere: Shit

Guinevere: woopsbbqhb

Guinevere: Jjwolppqnnahn

Merlin: Are you alright?

Guinevere: Yes, fine, I've run out of bullets though. This just got interesting. I'm taking cover as I type to reassess the situation. And possibly my life choices.

Merlin: Right. Anyway, what was I saying? My reason changed. Now, I do it because it's funny. 

Guinevere: You have GOT to be kidding me

Merlin: What? Do I need to lock down my office in case you come to kill me for admitting that?

Guinevere: No- well, maybe. But I've been hiding behind this crate for a full minute whilst they shoot at me...

Merlin: So?

Guinevere: So these are illegal arms dealers! It's full of bullets!!!

Merlin: Have fun, then, Guinevere. We will expect you home by tomorrow morning. 

Guinevere: I'll be home by tonight, with any luck. By the way, Merlin-

Merlin: Yes?

Guinevere: You are in for a world of pain, my friend. I'm going to enjoy this. And I'm sure Rox will help, the amount of times I've had to cancel on her for last minute missions... Perhaps we could team up?

Merlin: AH.  
\---  
Merlin (name withheld)= OFFLINE  
\---  
Guinevere: Ha! Coward.   
\---  
Guinevere (Hart, Chloe Hannah)= OFFLINE  
\---  
#109739902876388  
\---  
>

Activated by: Merlin (name withheld)  
Clearance Level #1   
\---


	5. Meetings and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry returns home from work and finds Chloe in a philosophical mood.

For three hours, I have been sitting patiently in Harry's leather office chair in the study, waiting for him to come home from yet another bloody meeting. They're unending these days, and whilst I am very proud of his career, I sometimes wish he was home more often. This is a very big house to share with just one lazy corgi.

Outside, the darkness swallows London up, and the city has come to life with lights. From my perch, I can count the bright glowing orbs of the street lamps, study the illuminated windows of the high-rises, muse over the car headlights and the myriad of shop fronts. There is something deeply poetic about it all, I think: perhaps it is the way that you can so easily lose yourself in London, take on an anonymous persona and walk amongst complete strangers, free and flowing with the tides.

My coffee has long since gone cold, but the beautiful freshly-brewed scent remains, mixing with the old books and dust scent of the study to soothe my soul. 

I love moments like this, deep reflections, taking stock of life. As a professional killer and the wife of a spy agency leader, I miss out on a lot of the peace that others seem to take for granted. Not that I would change my life, not for the world, but it feels good to just watch the rest of the city function around me and forget about my role for a while.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" murmurs a warmly aristocratic voice from behind me. The tone suggests velvet and fine whisky. "Harry!" I laugh, turning to reach out for him. "I didn't hear you come in."  
"I'm not surprised." he smiles, kissing me tenderly on the cheek and then facing the window thoughtfully. "There's something about a scene like this that appeals to my poetic nature."

I can't hold back a chuckle, the earnest look in his eyes is just too endearing. "You have a poetic nature?" He gasps dramatically and spreads his arms wide.  
"Stars, hide your fires, let not light see my dark and deep desires..."   
"Very impressive, but that's Shakespeare. And whilst I love the Bard, Macbeth is not exactly poetry."

"Ah, well," he says, sitting down on the windowsill in front of me. "We can't all have such a love of languages." I have to laugh at that one. "Not that it's got me very far. A love of guns has served me better."

He goes quiet for a moment after that, and I find myself evaluating my words to see what I said wrong. "Harry?"  
"It just catches me sometimes, my dear, don't worry." he assures me. "The fact that you are only 26 years old, and you kill for a living."

I don't really know where he's going with this. Is that sadness in his tone? "Well, please don't think about me with any pity, because I do enjoy my job."  
"What would you have been if you had not been recruited into Kingsman straight out of school?" Harry asks, a little abruptly. I would admit to being slightly taken aback. "I would have been an author, I always wanted to. I would have written to my heart's content in some little poky flat somewhere and tried to create a best seller."  
"You would have suited that lifestyle, I can see you as such." Harry says, and I think the bet description of it is wistful. "I suppose I would, but regardless, Kingsman is my lifestyle now." I pause. "What would you have been?"

"Probably something boring and well-paid that my father had pushed me into. Law, perhaps, or business. He was anxious that I should add some new money to the family's old money, as it were."  
"I can imagine. My mother always told me to give up on writing because I would never make a career out of it, but my father promised that he'd pay for me to publish privately if need be." 

We both look up at the picture of Father and I on the wall of the study. "I wish I could have met your father." Harry says. "He sounds like a fine gentleman."  
"He was lovely." I agree. 

The poetry of the outside world seeps in through the transparency of the window, and fuses with the inevitable recollections inside this house. The result is an air of philosophical nostalgia, not at all unpleasant. 

"Well," Harry says, getting to his feet, "Would you like some tea?"   
"I would love some, thank you." I accept gratefully, following him quietly out of the study and closing the door behind us.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that, cubs! Please comment and let me know what you thought- I'm rather concerned that I'm the only one who's enjoying these particular fics. But nonetheless, I hope that was a good read and I will update soon. Have a good day! Xxx


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